


present; mid-school year; dream within a dream.

by organizedcure (namelikeafairytale)



Series: #pornywrimo [in which joe is confused.] [2]
Category: Inception (2010) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namelikeafairytale/pseuds/organizedcure





	present; mid-school year; dream within a dream.

Joe was really sucking at Halo today. It wasn't that Joe didn't have brilliant hand-to-eye coordination, or that he couldn't comprehend the rules, he was just too busy making a mockery of Tom's concentration, sniggering every time the other boy narrowed his eyes in thought. And that was just fine with Tom. Yeah, it seemed Joe would be more of a distraction than usual, with all that delight and glee running through his face just from looking at Tom, but it was fine. As long as it keeps up.

"You look really stupid right now," Joe let on, words lazily forming around his mouth, "I mean, if I took video of you, my camera would probably combust because you look so... stupid."

And Tom just smirked, found Joe's character in a lower section of the mall, and turned to look at the younger boy whilst his own character sought out Joe's. Once he pressed the button, his hit count would be 21-0.

And then the game was paused. He raised an eyebrow at the screen and then reluctantly turned to face the gleeful culprit.

"Wow, look at me, I'm on a roll, but you're really making this hard on me, at least for this kill, anyway." Tom said, sharing a smile with Joe.

"Sorry." And the smile left Joe's face. This unsettled Tom, a weird breathlessness hit him and he felt his face soften, but he'd just shrug it off as the contagious effect of his best friend, yeah.

"You don't have to apologize," Tom said, with a tentative hand on Joe's shoulder, and then he added in his heaviest accent, "Mate."

Out of the corner of his eye, Joe smiled. If he minded Tom's hand, he didn't say anything. Well, at least not anything contesting to the hand in question, " I mean, call me a woman, or a 'bird,' or whatever you want, but... you're kinda like my best friend, Tom.

"And say what you will, I know you think the same of me." And he smiled, in that terribly wide and expressive smile, but Tom knew he was holding back certain expressions, so as not to let Tom have more reason to call him a woman, or maybe to sheild Tom from any more contagious feelings. "I don't know what I'm gonna do without you," he said sullenly.

And then he let out an exasperated groan, the noise going straight to Tom's, well, heh, and nearly scared the literal shit out of Tom as he practically screamed, "This summer's gonna fucking suck, man!"

And Tom moved to close a hand over Joe's mouth as the both of them scrambled in hushed tones, hoping that Tom's dad hadn't heard Joe's slip of the tongue.

"Sorry," Joe whispered, those lips rubbing against Tom's long fingers and the words pressing through skin and there was that fucking ping in his chest again, making it hard to breathe.

For fuck's sake. Tom's breath stinted, and he had to swallow, eyes open and unfocused, but suddenly staring in the direction of the frozen television screen. Joe's own fingers were pushing his away, a hand on Tom's shoulder using it to lift himself up off the floor and onto the bed they were using as a back rest. And Joe just let himself lean back on Tom's bed, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark star-tacked ceiling, chuckling to himself at the origin of the stars. Joe's bedroom had the exact same design, give or take a few centimeters.

Meanwhile, Tom stood up, all too aware of his best friend lying on his bed, hands under his head. All too aware of the warm, prickling sensation coiling in his stomach. All too fucking aware of Joseph and his long fingers, imagining them tangling themselves in Tom's long (but not as shaggy as Joe's) hair. And yeah, he was also all too fucking aware of the fact that Joe was wearing very little clothing: chucks, pressed khakis, and the thinnest, most-worn out tee he could find, it being summer and all, and yeah, maybe Tom imagined pulling it off, and maybe he even thought of licking that impressive coll- Oh fuck. He was not checking ou- No.

Joe scooted over, making room for Tom. And Tom couldn't help it, almost too eager to share his bed with the other boy.

"Why London? Why now? Fu-," he stopped short, too pressed for words to even get them out. He rubbed his face with his hands, before using them to gesticulate the following words: "This was supposed to be the summer that changed our lives, and you go running off to, fuc- 'sodding' London! Could you be any farther away? Australia not quite your cup of tea?"

"You finished?" Tom asked, quite enthralled with the show Joe's hands were making, flailing in the air, cursing the stars and what not.

"NO," Joe said, and then sighed, "Damn Brits."

And Tom couldn't help it, he laughed, loud and racous. The entire situation too incredible for him to deal with. Here he was, almost visibly turned on by his best friend of all people, with the guy in his bleeding bed, and the bastard was going on about how he'd miss him. And 'damn Brits.' His laughter died in breathy sighs and thought that a summer spent in London away from Joe, his smile, fingers, and collarbone, would be far less torturous than a week like this.

Joe turned to stare at him pointedly, his brow wrinkled, and his shaggy hair curling in at the nape of his neck. His eyes were expressionless, "You're not even gonna miss me, are you? Probably thinking about some hot English babe you'll be macking with, heartless bastard."

He let out a last chuckle at the irony, and shifted to face Joe, his brown eyes full of mirth and casualty. The boy was fucking perfect. He couldn't have been more than eight inches away. And he swore that length was shortening every second that went by. But Joe didn't move. He just laid there, unblinking, unchallenging, but also not protesting. So Tom pretty much said 'fuck it' and he could smell the lingering traces of Dr. Pepper on Joe's breath as he boldly leant forward, swallowing, and not daring to blink.

\---

Tom opens one eye and swats his hand around the mess of sheets and limbs for his vibrating phone. 12:56am, nearly 10 missed calls, and 37 text messages.

And then he notices his tented pants. Bloody dreams.

"Jesus fucking christ," he muttered.

And for the second time that evening, he slipped in his hands in his trousers and groaned slightly at the pressure.

"So fucking juvenile."


End file.
